I could not believe what a small amount of high-tech, $25,000 would buy. However cool and trendy, it made us feel rather inept the first night we went out to check the night vision sights, range finders and binoculars. It was a true fiasco. Fredo wanted to voyeur all the windows in the valley, Greenie demanded everyone’s attention to show us how the scopes would mount and what the best mounts were for the few weapons of choice and Charley “Gimp” Lindell wanted Greenie to rig a tripod for his wheelchair that would snap onto his Bushmaster .308 picatinny rail. Leo kept dry-firing his Remington at every other human within range, and I just knew we were in for a rude awakening, and perhaps jail time, the first time we went into the real “field” together.

      Actually, it didn’t work out that way at all; the jail time that is. Our first dry-run was in Southeastern Arizona’s Chiricahua Mountains, where old Cochise used to ride and hide. We nestled ourselves under the protection of some giant granite spires and waited for our first tactical nightfall. It came with the normal sights and sounds of the Chiricahua. There were coyote yips and howls; they knew we were there, quail peeped goodnight, owls hooted and a devilishly brave Coati Mundi invaded our camp without an invitation. He was a young squire and seemed as curious about us as we were of him. He kept his tail high to appear as big as possible, but when Leo challenged him with a tossed stick his tail was suddenly streaming behind him as he ran up a rock minaret, circled it and watched us intently for more signs of the devil, Leo.

      There were many abbreviations and modifications to our demeanor, equipment and plans that night and the following days. We found we had plenty of food and water, but it wasn’t organized efficiently and we had no succinct plans for maneuver or other appropriate tactics. What we needed was a good scenario in order to properly prepare to “not be seen”. We started with the requirement for a fire shield that would keep the reflection of a camp fire to a minimum. If we were to find it necessary to have a fire, it would have to be hidden. The problem quickly evolved to a purchase of miniature gas cooking stoves to serve for heat and for cooking.

      On the way home, minus one charred shelter, we resolved to just buy canned burners, because gas stoves made it too easy for Greenie to burn up a tent. Canned burners are lighter, less obvious at night with their blue flame, and can be put out quickly by just putting the top back on. If we had to have fire, those would be the answer. That’s sort of the way our planning went each time we went out to plan … whatever it was we were practicing.

      Over four more outings of two nights each during week days, we found we could reduce our supplies by about a hundred pounds, using dried foods, tight packing, orderly arrangement, and space-age sleeping equipment. Our heaviest supply continued to be water, but we each purchased a personal back packed water unit which, based on body weight, would allow most of us to be individually self-sufficient up to 72 hours, with proper conservation. We purchased cheap, camouflaged plastic water containers that allowed us to drop off water going into a site and utilize it on the way back, or just leave it. We found that mountain climbing suppliers and paramilitary outfitters offered the most current innovations in the types of equipment we needed. However, the methods of utilization and tactics were ours alone. The one thing we had the most trouble coping with … insects.

      Gimp found a patented dry pyrethrum-derived spray that was persistent and would kill bugs for days. We took a small can whenever we planned to sleep over. After that, we only had problems with an occasional snake or four-legged desert denizen. We ate the poisonous snakes if they failed to escape us. They were delicious when cooked in tin-foil and slowly baked. Yep, they call Special Forces troops “Snake Eaters” for a reason.

      When it came time for our first encounter with real nature photographers, Gimp realized before anyone else that we forgot to purchase a quality camera to collect our evidence. Damn, you know how dumb you feel when you discover you’re dumber than you thought? Greenie saved the day by coming up with an attachment on one of the range finders to place a new high-tech Nikon with digital motion capability. Then, we had to buy a stable tripod for the range finder. It finally worked great though, and made us think we were ready for the big time. Remember your first date?

      * * *

      Greenie Mitchell was the man to come up with a mission. It involved following a major nature magazine staff photographer on a trip through Carlsbad Caverns and into the hills around Carlsbad. Greenie got the information from a friend at the national park, who issued permits for photography. The requirements dictated that a park ranger monitor daily permit compliance. That meant the guy would have a ranger with him at all times. During the long drive to Carlsbad, we questioned why we were going and how anyone could harm the environment doing a photo-op about bats and ancient formations in the Caverns, especially with a ranger around. The drive was a pretty good bonding experience though.

      It was easy to locate the guy, staying at a decent motel in Carlsbad. He seemed legit, had all the camera equipment a guy could carry in an SUV and had a pretty assistant, probably his wife, with him. According to Greenie, the permit was for nine days. We stayed at the same motel. We had never been into a real operation, let alone stayed in the boonies for nine days, so we developed a plan wherein only two of our group would monitor the guy each day. Each evening the duo would brief the rest of us on the daily happenings, which probably would not be too interesting for most of us. It all went well until day five.

      The guy must have been almost as bored as we were. On the fifth morning he changed his normal routine and took the road to Slaughter Canyon Cave. We documented that he had an attractive female ranger with him on two of the five days in the field. She didn’t accompany him on day five, but he’d taken several photos of her on other occasions, even getting her to pose without her hat in a fairly provocative pose for a park ranger. It wouldn’t have resulted in her being fired, but when Fredo heard about it he was practically frothing at the mouth, tried to switch days with everyone even though the horny dweeb had no way of knowing which days the female ranger would be in the field.

      Then on day six, he got his chance. He switched days with Leo, and he and I got to follow the photographer. His van stopped at the ranger barracks and picked up the female ranger. She was in civilian clothes and took a blue gym bag with her. Fredo was very attentive thereafter and worried at every turn we would lose them. When they turned off to Rattlesnake Springs, Fredo wanted to split up and approach the springs from two directions. I declined. We went as far as the “closed” sign and pulled off the road to inspect our gear. Once confident of our directions, we made a large loop to the north and then east toward the spring area.

      The sun was just coming up and we located the three folks at the edge of the beautiful small reservoir. They seemed to be admiring the lake and the ladies were tossing small pebbles into the water while the photographer was obviously taking light readings, periodically snapping pictures of the ladies and their beautiful smiles and long hair. After a very few minutes of what seemed like flirting and kidding, the two ladies started slowly undressing each other and placing their cloths in an orderly fashion on one of the picnic tables. The ladies retained only their G-strings and sandals. Fredo was hyperventilating, slobbering I’m sure and fogging up his binoculars. I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it too.

      Then the trio moved to the eastern side of the Cottonwood